Oh No!

Day Twelve: Oh No!, Cords, Batteries and Other Miscellaneous Electronic Stuff

I shoved a mass of cords, headphones, batteries and miscellaneous electronic stuff in an empty bread bag and put the bag under the seat of my scooter to bring to work. The innards of a Mr. Bill dog toy were in the bag. Harpo has long since chewed the toy to bits, but this little recording is so funny, I haven't been able to bring myself to throw it away. All the way to work, every time I hit a bump or rounded a corner, Mr. Bill would moan "Oh no!" from under my seat. I laughed so hard, I still can't bring myself to throw it away. It's sitting on the table in my office now, so when people come to me with problems, we can just hit the button.

I was planning to give this mysterious Apple thing to Adam, our IT guy, because I figured he would know what it was for and would be able to use it. He does know what it's for - you can pause and restart Netflix on your computer with it - but he has one already. I decided to keep it, now that I understand it better.

Anything can be recycled or reused where I work. I am getting rid of all the other cords, broken earbuds, dead batteries, plugs that go to nothing, and one lone cell phone. They went in the garbage, in the "property disposition" pile for resale to benefit the botanical gardens, or in the recycling bin. Any one of these items would be worthy of an entire blog post, but I'm certain I have more of all of them lurking in drawers in my house. I still have 353 days to go.

Contents of the Car

Day Eleven: Contents of the Car

Second day in the hotel with only my suitcase, my purse and the contents of my car. The car is a bit of a sore point, because I share it with my daughter, who isn't exactly neat. Again, I thought I had pretty well cleaned out the car in preparation for this trip, and again, I was surprised by the stuff hiding there. A few things stood out.

Pens and Mechanical Pencils; Miscellaneous Clothing Including a Brand New T-Shirt
I took a safari from Nairobi to Lake Turkana twenty years ago, twelve foreigners jostling around in the back of a flatbed truck on roads that we wouldn't call roads in the United States. We drove north through dusty little towns where smiling barefoot kids dressed in raggedy t-shirts and shorts would run along beside the slow-moving truck with their hands out. One of the tourists had brought packs of Bic pens and would pass out pens to these kids as we rode along. He had read that kids in these towns needed pens for school.

Residents would occasionally jump into the truck and ride for a while, using the safari truck as a form of public transportation. At one point, a young slender woman got on with a baby who was naked except for a gray rag wrapped around his bottom. We'd stop in a new town every hour or so, and at each stop, she'd get out, unwrap the cloth from the baby's bottom, and rinse it out at a hand-pump or puddle. Whatever water she could find. Then she'd put the rag back on the baby. Wet.

So in my car, I found about two dozen pens and mechanical pencils, wedged under the seats or in the glove compartment or in the side pockets. I'll bring them into the house, and we might use them someday. Ditto the brand new t-shirt, leather jacket, scarf and single sock.

Swim Goggles, Flashlights and Water Bottles
These are important only because I bought a new pair of swim goggles on Friday and a water bottle yesterday, and two flashlights on our camping trip last December. I thought we needed them. It turns out we had a pair of swim goggles in the side pocket, a flashlight and a headlamp in the glove compartment, and two water bottles under the seats already.

We've got so much stuff, the stuff creates a fog. You can't see the stuff through the fog, and so you have to buy more stuff because there's stuff you need, and you can't see whether you have it or not, so you've got to buy more. And the fog gets thicker.

What I Got Rid Of
I got rid of a glass vase, which came free with a florist's bouquet and which we used to keep the senior flowers fresh last week. Also got rid of a lot of trash, broken stuff (like a leaky water bottle and a plastic hairbrush), some maps (who needs maps any more now that we have portable brains?), and receipts for car repairs.

Also I got rid of the book I Will Teach You to Be Rich, which is actually a text book from Emma's personal finance class. As I understand it, it's basically about saving money, which you can do if you're not always buying stuff.

Purse Contents

Day 10: The Contents of My Purse

Entire contents of my purse

I chose to clean out my purse because I'm staying with Sam in a hotel outside of Chicago for his U16 soccer tournament. All I have with me is my car, my suitcase and the contents of my purse. 

I recently switched purses and I feared I would not find anything to throw away.

I was wrong.

What I kept: 

• Driver's license
• Library card
• Credit card that gives frequent flier miles
• Sunglasses
• Reading glasses
• Dramamine, ibuprofen, and albuteral
• AAA card
• Lipstick
• Kleenex
• ATM card
• Tampons
• Michigan Theater membership card
• University of Michigan employee identification card
• Smart phone
• Extra set of scooter keys
• Forever stamps.

The Trash

What was missing: 

• The $138 receipt for faculty and senior flowers for Emma's last musical, which I need if I want to get reimbursed by the parent-teacher association
• Cash. People with teenagers have no cash. Teenagers leak cash from their parents' wallets like a hole leaks air from a balloon.

What I threw away: 

• Three-year-old eyeglass prescription of Emma's
• Expired Ark membership
• Expired Costco membership
• Expired medical flexible spending card
• Expired duplicate AAA card
• Expired frequent buyer discount card for Plato's Closet, a used teen clothing store
• Frequent buyer card for cupcake bakery where Sam and I bought a birthday present three years ago and to which we have not been since
• Business card for TIAA Cref representative; feels like we will never be able to retire.

The Pending File

What I put in a holding place pending resolution: 

• The lifetime warranty form for my Stormey Kromer hat, which I filled out and will mail as soon as I get an envelope, using the forever stamp I kept
• The UM Credit Union home equity credit card, which I activated and put back in my wallet
• The scooter registration form, which belongs with the scooter now that Sam is licensed to drive it
• Bank account information for my parents, which I will be responsible for managing when my father dies. It's difficult to type the words "when my father dies." At first I chose the words, "If anything happens to my father," but that makes it sound as though he's a spy leaving for a dangerous mission on foreign soil. I replaced that with "if my father dies," but that's silly. He's not sick, but he's already several years older than his father got to be. So. When my father dies I will be responsible for finding these slips of paper, and following his instructions, and so I must put these in our metal box in the basement where we keep our passports and birth certificates, as soon as I get home.

Bridesmaid's Gowns

Day 9: Bridesmaid's Gowns

Lisa heading out in the rain
to collect her long-lost gowns

The only time I've ever worn a bridesmaid's gown was ten years ago, for a costume party given by my husband's boss for her 45th birthday. I borrowed two from a co-worker and chose the one I liked the best, a low-cut silk number with ruffles and a black taffeta rose. Rich wore a cowboy hat, cowboy boots, a ruffled shirt and long sideburns.

There was a picture of us somewhere, but now it's gone.

Lisa had asked me to return the gowns, but I never did. After the party, I took them to the office and hung them on the back of the door. They hung there for several months, winking at me during business meetings. Lisa and I were never able to connect. I got another job, packed up the office and took them home.

By then, I felt they needed to be pressed and cleaned. The dry cleaner would not take them because of the sequins and ruffles. They lay crushed in a tiny basket in my closet, a trip hazard and a reproach.

A few days ago, I took the gowns out, hung them inside-out on a hanger, and spritzed them with water. They don't smell bed. They don't have stains. They were just wrinkly. And now they're not.

Here's what Lisa had to say about it:

 On Wed, Mar 26, 2014 at 2:39 PM, Lisa wrote:

That is so funny that you emailed me. I was cleaning out my closet the other day and trying to find things for our fun fashion show/fundraiser at our church. I pulled out a couple of my dresses and said, oh too bad I didn’t get those dresses from Karen – those would be fun to have someone wear down the runway!!!

I was laughing (and crying) when I was digging out my other dresses! They are so tiny.  Oh, to be young and tiny again.

All that worrying for nothing.

Vicodin

Day 8: Vicodin and Other Prescription Medications

Getting rid of old prescription medications is not as easy as you might think. You can't flush them because they might contaminate the rivers and streams. (And how eager does that make you to take your medicine, by the way?) You can't turn them in at the doctor's office; they won't take them. You're not supposed to throw them in the trash. You can't give them to your buddies or sell them on the street corner; it's illegal. You can't even turn them in at CVS or Walgreen's unless they are a designated disposal pharmacy. I know, I tried.

I didn't even recognize the veterinary prescription for Metacam. I was relieved when my web search revealed that it is for canine joint pain. Our 100-pound lab has been dead for over four years, which doesn't speak well for the cleanliness of my medicine cabinet, but at least I haven't been neglecting my current dog.

The Vicodin has been in a drawer in my bedside table for almost three years, ever since I had a tumor removed from my sinus cavity. Not that the surgery didn't hurt, but I'm afraid of that stuff. It's a relief not to have it in the drawer any more. It felt like a disaster waiting to happen. I believe the other bottle is prescription Aleve, but I'm afraid to let anyone take it because I'm not completely sure what it is. These prescriptions don't come with dosage information like over-the-counter meds.

The closest disposal pharmacy is in St. Joseph Mercy Hospital in Ypsilanti. Heading there after work.

[Later] Vicodin is even harder to get rid of than I thought. You have to take it to a police station, or crush is up in coffee grounds and throw it away. I will soon have very relaxed hive beetles in the compost heap.

Piano Books

Day Seven: Elementary Piano Books

I went to last night's choir concert believing it was Emma's last. I imagined writing sentimental statements about how much I was going to miss hearing her figure out songs in the evenings with her guitar, and how proud I always am to pick out her voice among the chorus. Individual voices are meant to blend in, but mother penguins can recognize a single chicks' cry among thousands.

It was one of those concerts where the middle school choir, the upper school orchestra and the upper school choir all perform. There were no programs left by the time we arrived, five minutes late. This meant that my usual entertainment - counting the number of songs to be performed and calculating the percent completed, percent remaining, and estimated finishing time - was not an option. The kicker: there was no drawn-out gifting of cd's to each senior with ex temporaneous comments on their personalities by the choir director. Which means that this was not the last choir concert. There's still one more out there, lurking.

But. That's no reason not to get rid of the dozen or so elementary piano books I found on the music shelf, books which, along with lessons, cost hundreds of dollars and caused hundreds of hours of nagging. I advertised them on amazon.com, but no one wanted to buy them.

Emma's former piano teacher promised to find them good homes.

Tricycle Magazine

Day 6: Tricycle Magazine

There is exquisite irony in hanging onto old Buddhist magazines. I hope someone at the library magazine exchange finds value in them.

Files

Day Five: Files

What I kept:

• My master's thesis
• My mystery novel
• My chick book
• Handwritten notes and letters from friends and family
• Tax returns

What I recycled:

• Rejection letters
• Old warranties and operating instructions for things I don't own any more, like a cordless phone, a leaf blower and a gas grill
• Bank statements, insurance policies, and anything else that's now available on-line

Flexible Flyer

Day Four: Flexible Flyers

You don't always know when you're doing a thing for the last time. Like sledding with the kids. Or singing them to sleep. Or breastfeeding.

We haven't used the flexible flyers in three years. I love them. They are awesome sleds. But Emma doesn't go sledding any more, and Sam goes on his own with his friends. I'm sad to say goodbye to the sledding era, but my nieces will get good use out of them. They were gifts from my parents, so it is fitting that the next set of grandkids should have the use of them.

Sometimes you do know when it's the last time. Like the last high school musical before your daughter goes off to college. That was today.

Bottle Opener

Day Three: Bottle Opener, Rubber Bands and Plastic Forks

Cleaning out the kitchen implement drawer. When my 80-year-old neighbor, Barbara, sold her house and moved in with her boyfriend, she bequeathed several kitchen implements to us. We have two of those things: can opener, potato peeler, wooden spoon, nutcracker. These I can't bring myself to give away. I still miss Barbara.

The longhorn bottle opener Sam got for free somewhere has never been used. Why am I reluctant to give it away? Because. It might be useful someday. You could attach it to your keychain. I'll just put it on the free table at work. That way, someone will definitely get use out of it.

Plastic forks and spoons can go into the plastic cutlery box. They'll end up in the trash someday, but the kids will use them in lunches one more time before they're discarded.

There are a bajillion rubber bands. Note to self: purchase broccoli at the farmer's market in the future. No rubber bands. There are a bajillion little plastic bread fasteners. Must take up baking. Bread fasteners and rubber bands go in the trash.

Bedsheets

Day Two: Bedsheets

A year ago, we traded our old double innerspring mattress for a queen-sized, foam core mattress. The innerspring mattress had been a wedding gift to my husband's former fiance upon her first marriage. To give you an idea of its age, Rich and I have been together going on twenty years, and he and Laurie spend at least seven years together. So for twenty years, we'd been cramped on a small mattress, crowded with ghosts, and waking up with stiff hips.

The new mattress gives us more space in the bed, but less space in the linen closet.

We had too many sheets to begin with. Years ago, my sister upgraded her double bed to a king, and passed a big stack of white cotton sheets on to me. Then there were the sheets we'd gotten as wedding gifts. And the sheets we'd had before, when we were thirty-something singles.

I hate the idea of donating sheets to the PTO Thrift Shop. I know they'll just sit on a rack there, looking tired, gray and mismatched. No one will buy them. Ultimately, they'll get shredded or end up in a landfill.

I looked on-line for uses for old bedsheets. I definitely will not be cutting them into strips and braiding them into rag rugs. No, I don't need thirty drop cloths. And goody bags and wrapping paper sewn from old sheets sounds vaguely repulsive.

One blogger suggested that animal shelters would accept old bedding. The Humane Society of Huron Valley accepts only old towels and blankets. No sheets.

I emailed a couple friends who work for different animal rescue groups. Waiting to hear back.

[LATER] Success! My friend TJ's wife will take them for the animal rescue place where she volunteers! And it's an excuse to visit with TJ. And the linen closet is organized at last.

Tiny Rubber Basketball

Day One: Tiny Rubber Basketball and Other Tiny Disused Toys

Our house is permeated with tiny toys, accumulated by my children over the past 17 years. The tiny rubber basketball has been at the bottom of the mail basket on the credenza in the living room for months, possibly years. It is foam core with a hard plastic surface, pocked and dirty, about an inch and half in diameter.

A number of other tiny toys became visible once I noticed the tiny basketball. A tiny skateboard with working wheels and a sandpaper surface. A tiny green wooden railroad car with magnetic ends. A tiny hard rubber ball with a plastic penguin encased inside. A tiny wire man with missing arms and a plastic helmet. A tiny magnifying glass. A tiny purple fabric flower with a tiny purple jewel in the center. A brown plastic cockroach, life-sized.

I toss all these items into a reused Ziploc bag, ready for a PTO Thrift Shop donation run. My teenagers won't miss them.

I often imagine the Chinese workers who manufacture these toys. Do they feel proud of their work, or indifferent? Are they grateful for a steady paycheck, or do they make next to nothing? Are they children, or old, or neither? Do they work long hours? Are the factories loud and airless, or do they have windows that open? Do they occasionally slip a McDonald's Happy Meal prize in their pockets?

And who extracts the natural resources that are the basis of these toys? Texas oil refiners? Migrant farm workers? Brazilian rubber renderers?

What is plastic made out of anyway?

The Stuff Challenge

Get rid of one thing a day for a year.

My friend Robin made this her New Year's resolution as she begins to think about and prepare for retirement. An easy way to downsize and organize.

I like an efficient and uncluttered environment. Rich and I may move to a different house in a couple years, when our youngest child leaves for college.

I'm in.